


Gone

by Fumm95



Series: Morning Glory (Jace Malcom & Satele Shan) [18]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst, F/M, Goodbyes, KotFE speculation, OC: Lieutenant Shi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 20:13:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7120927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fumm95/pseuds/Fumm95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hears it first in whispers traded by soldiers. She is gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone

**Author's Note:**

> More KotFE feels and never ending Jace/Satele feels.

She is gone.

Jace hears the rumors in whispers, being passed along by his soldiers as soon as he awakes the next morning. They do not make an effort to keep their voices down, for once, when he draws near, and he suspects he knows exactly who they are talking about even before he asks.

The poor sergeant looks entirely taken aback at being directly addressed by the Supreme Commander but he cannot quite find it in himself to care. “Who is missing, sergeant?”

The man exchanges a nervous look with his friend, who simply blinks at him, before straightening with an awkward salute. “None of the men, sir, at least that we know about, and it’s all just speculation anyhow, which means—”

“ _Sergeant_.”

The rambling cuts off mid-sentence, followed by a very audible swallow. “Grand Master Shan, sir.”

He freezes. Something hadn’t seemed right, then, had seemed too definitive, too final. But he hadn’t wanted to believe it, had he? Had convinced himself that he was imagining things, that there was no way she could—that she would—leave the Republic.

That she would leave him.

“Sir?”

The troops are staring at him, he realizes belatedly, and he clears his throat. “Dismissed.”

They scatter in short order, for which he is thankful as his world tilts precariously on its axis. She is gone, again. Has left overnight, again. He wonders briefly whether she left a note for him, like before, wonders whether such a continued parallel would make things better or worse.

Except no, there is no reason for her to leave a note, especially not specifically for him. Not anymore.

That thought only stings more.

“Sir!” Shi’s brisk tone cuts through the growing chaos in his mind and he turns to find her watching him with concern.

“Yes, commander?” His voice comes out flat, despite the emotion he attempts to inject into it, and her frown seems to deepen.

“Sir, Master Kiwiiks from the Jedi Council is on the holo. She wishes to speak with you.”

He nods even as his chest tightens. He is not sure the last time he was contacted by a member of the Jedi Council who was not _her_ , and it only seems to add to his apprehension and growing certainty that the rumors may not be as far-fetched as he hopes. “Understood.”

Shi accompanies him in silence, for which he is grateful, brown eyes full of sympathy; she has spent enough years as his second-in-command that he knows she has long since been aware of even the more personal parts of his past. That she may know him better than anyone except—

He shakes his head as they duck into the command tent. Even years—decades—later, he has never been able to get _her_ out of his mind, has never been able to so much as think about her without a sting from their past, without an ache in his chest.

Without still caring.

“Supreme Commander Malcom.” Even through the holo, Master Kiwiiks tone is warm, comforting. For a second, she gives him a searching look that leaves him feeling vaguely like a small child caught in misbehaving, but then she smiles, a tight expression, and the sensation is gone, replaced by an overwhelming sense of foreboding.

“Master Kiwiiks,” he returns with a nod. “How are things on Tython?”

Her lekku twitches as she shrugs. “As well as they could be, under the circumstances. Undergoing some unexpected changes at the moment.” Her tone is significant, but he says nothing, does not want to jump to conclusions, or perhaps does not want to give name to what he is starting to fear.

After a pause, she sighs, the sound exhausted, resigned. “I expect word has already gotten out about it, but we thought it best to confirm with you.”

His throat suddenly seems too dry and he swallows hard, barely managing a croak. “Grand Master Shan?”

“She resigned.” Sorrow resonates deeply in Master Kiwiik’s tone, is etched onto her features. “She came to us yesterday morning, told us that she was unfit to lead the Jedi and that she was leaving the Order.” Each word feels like another blow to his chest.

“Where—?” He coughs, clears his throat as his voice cracks. “Where did she go?”

Another sigh, heavier, this time. “She would not say.” The Jedi hesitates, watching him with something resembling apprehension. “We do not have a replacement for Mas— Satele.” He barely manages to resist a flinch at the stumble, at the way Kiwiiks’ voice trembles. “Without her, there is nobody who has any chance of leading the Jedi against Zakuul.”

Jace thinks back to the cantina, to the expression on her face, the despair and determination glistening in pale eyes that he had refused to believe, that he should have recognized, and realizes. “I do not believe she intended us to, Master Kiwiiks.”

Her surprise is clear but the more he thinks on it, the more he suspects he is right. The more he knows he should have said something, should have made her understand.

Should have asked her to stay.

He takes a deep breath, running a tired hand through his hair. “I know Satele Shan, have fought by her side for decades.” _I loved her_ , he thinks but he does not dare add that, not even now. “She would not leave a job unfinished.” He exhales loudly, glancing toward the galaxy map, where a large swathe has been swept up, away from both Republic and Empire, by Zakuul, where countless lives have been lost. “For her to disappear…”

“She must truly believe it is for the best.”

In his memory, her face remains impassive but haunted eyes blink at him, brimming with grief for all of the friends and students that she lost. “Or she has given up hope.”

The words—his words— _sting_ in their truthfulness. For a long moment, all he can hear is heavy breathing, and it slowly occurs to him that it is his own, harsh and painful as he attempts to draw air into his chest.

“I understand.”

The sympathy that is clear in her voice, that he can see in her gaze even through the holo, is too much. He closes his eyes, trying to will himself into Jedi calm, to forget the shattered spirit that Satele managed to disguise so well.

He fails.

 _I should have known._ The words are on the tip of his tongue but he swallows them back. The self-recrimination is for him and him alone. Instead, he frowns, crossing his arms in front of his chest with a nonchalance that he does not feel. “If that is all, Master Jedi?”

She hesitates, then nods. “Thank you, Commander. And for what it is worth, I am sorry.”

In spite of himself, the holo seems to blur before it cuts off, and, even surrounded by the war camp, by the crowd of troops and Jedi and everybody else, he has never felt so _alone_.


End file.
